This tree grows figs from trunk and branch
These walls are white and sharp, the shadows clean
This light is young, these hours long
This morning's perfect, something's wrong

The shirtless sky, the burning bricks
The quiet burden of your absence
Knowing that your idea of bliss is, days like this
The shirtless sky, the burning bricks
The quiet burden of your absence
Knowing that your idea of bliss is, days like this
La la la la, la la la la

A ripe fig broken in your hands
A flash of perfect teeth, a hint of smile
The ancient streets you're standing in
The sun still searches for your skin

The weeks go by, the sprinklers hiss
My heart is thirsty in your absence
Knowing that your idea of bliss is days like this
What can I say?
Six weeks away and I've nothing much to show
But you know that I will try to capture this morning light for you in your absence
Knowing that your idea of bliss is, days like this
The shirtless sky, the burning bricks
The quiet burden of your absence
Knowing that your idea of bliss is days like this
La la la la, la la la la